Whenever I lose connection to my body, whenever I lose connection to my sexuality, whenever I need to get out of my head, I dance.
Sometimes I'll dance in a club, enveloped by bass in almost darkness, my skin vibrating as it hovers dangerously close to other unfamiliar gyrating bodies. Sometimes I'll dance for my lover's gaze, using my hips to beg his eyes to watch me, moving my hands and fingers as a way to create flirtatious energy within the space between us.
But most of the time, I dance for myself—in the shower, in the bathroom, in the kitchen while I'm chopping vegetables or stirring a pot of soup.
It's never anything super fancy. I don't try to follow a certain sequence of steps or perfect a particular move. I just turn on some of my favorite music in my headphones and let my body move the way it wants to move.
I dance as a way to come back to my sensual center, to use my hips and my breath to move stagnant energy in my body. I dance as a way to remind myself of that my body is strong, that in keeping rhythm I connect to something greater than myself, something that my ancestors tapped into around fires, by candlelight, in places of worship.
I dance as a way to access erotic joy.
I've been dancing for much of my life—jazz, ballet, hip-hop, pole dance, belly dance, burlesque. But only recently have I discovered the healing power of dance outside of a designated class.
There's nothing wrong with committing to a weekly dance practice taught by professional, but there is something to be said when it comes to exploring unlocking that energy and power in the privacy of your own space.
Because it's my belief that dance classes aren't teaching you anything new, but that they're helping you reclaim what is already inherently within you—the ability to move and trust your body to move sensually.
And that's why I love my friend Rashida's work: it's the philosophy behind her movement and dance practice.
Rashida is a woman who embodies sexual freedom—not just when she dances, but in the way that she speaks, in the way that she takes up space. But when she does dance, the language of erotic power translates and resonates in her movements. You can tell by the way she moves that she not only knows her body but that she loves it deeply.
Watching Rashida dance is inspiring, medicinal.
So it was in this frame of mind of dance and sexual liberation that I invited Rashida to chat with me about her dance practice, about this clear connection she has with her body, and the ways I (we) can continue to use dance as a way of empowering my (our) sexuality.
/ How to use erotic dance as a means of getting to know yourself sexually and sensually.
/ Rashida's self-love and spiritual journey—namely, how she went from dancing for her church to stripping as a new form of sacred worship.
/ What it looks like to create an intentional sexy movement practice that empowers and encourages your sexual liberation journey.
We also talk about Rashida's queer identity, the different levels of sexual self-discovery, and how dance has helped her tap into her erotic power.
"When I'm tapped into this hurricane-like energy of being connected to my sexuality, it takes on a very protective energy of me."
Press play below to our conversation or click here.
Some things mentioned in this episode:
About Rashida: Rashida KhanBey (also known as HurricaneVixen) is a performing artist, striptease teacher, sensuality coach and the creator of the short film Sex Is A God Thing. Her mission in this world is to help femme identified souls tap into their erotic self through movement and dance as a vehicle for radical spiritual transformation and visceral healing. Rashida offers regular erotic dance group and private coaching programs in Chicago and on the road.
© 2020 Ev'Yan Whitney / All rights reserved.